


Broken

by Cassiopeias_Sky



Series: Fire and Fury [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Angst, Assault, Cheating, Firefighter!Bucky, Hospitals, How did this even happen, Lots of Angst, and mata from the emperor's new groove, because they're important, dude hospitals suck ass, guest starring mina okafor from the resident, mentions of rape by coercion and sex, part 2 in a songfic trilogy, song: Broken by Seether, this is a songfic, this wasn't supposed to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeias_Sky/pseuds/Cassiopeias_Sky
Summary: Part 2 in the Fire and Fury trilogyThis part explores Bucky’s relationship with his Angel in flashbacks and is interspersed with moments from present day.  It’s got some happy moments but it’s still angsty as hell.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Dance with the Devil was originally planned as a one-shot, however so many people requested a sequel that I began to consider it. Then I went for a walk and Broken by Seether came on, and now here we are in the middle of a trilogy of songfics. Whoops.

**I wanted you to know that I love the way you laugh**

**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away**

**I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well**

**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain**

_Bucky’s POV: 5 years ago_

He gets up when the alarm goes off at 4:30 am. He wasn’t sleeping; someone with the wrong body shape, the wrong voice, and the wrong perfume is lying beside him and he can’t relax enough to sleep.  It isn’t that Erica isn’t a nice girl, because she’s nice enough.  She’s just not the _right_ girl.  

She’s not his Angel.

Bucky tried breaking it off with Erica a few weeks ago when he finally figured out why he felt so unsettled with everything, but she convinced him not to.  Said she already knew his heart wasn’t in it – knew it from the beginning, actually, when he was uttering another woman’s name in his sleep – but that was okay because she wasn’t looking for anything serious anyway.  Their relationship is really nothing more than a mutual distraction a few nights a week.  It fulfills its purpose, for the most part.

He doesn’t even glance at her as he gets out of bed and gets dressed – she’ll find her way out while he’s at the gym, like she usually does.

The gym is a distraction, too.

***

“Lifting or cardio, Buck?”  Steve’s voice snaps him out of a fog.

“Neither,” Bucky mutters as he wraps his knuckles. “I’m gonna do the heavy bag today.” He needs to work off some…some what? Frustration?  Anger?  Disappointment?

Steve shoots him a quizzical look.  “Are you starting up kickboxing again?”

“No.”  Bucky doesn’t elaborate, he just walks away.

Of course, his oldest friend isn’t exactly one to leave well enough alone.  “What’s going on, Buck?”

“Nothing.”  Bucky squares his feet and takes his first swing at the heavy bag.  It sways slightly under the hit, and he swings again.

Right jab.  Left hook.  Left jab. Right kick.  Right kick.  Left uppercut.  Right hook. _Don’t think_.

“Is it about the city council meeting next week? Don’t worry, we’ll get the funding issue figured out.”

Left kick.  Left knee.  Right knee. One-two combo.  “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Steve is quiet for a long minute before he speaks again.  “Is this about Boss’s wedding tomorrow?”

Bucky lands one last powerful punch and then goes still.  “What are you talking about, Steve?”

Steve shakes his head slightly.  “No one else knows, Buck, you hide it well.  I wasn’t even sure until this week.“  He lowers his voice, even they’re the only two people in the gym.  “But I know you have feelings for her.  It makes sense that you’d be having a tough time with her getting married tomorrow.”

Married.  Tomorrow. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Angel’s just a really good friend,” he mutters, knowing that he sounds defeated but unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Of course she’s a good friend – she’s a good friend to pretty much everyone at the department.  But your good friend getting married isn’t the problem, is it?”

Bucky clenches his jaw but doesn’t answer.

“Yes, when you met her you immediately hit it off and became friends – everyone could see that.  She quoted your favorite movie her first week on the job, you have the same sense of humor, you can talk for _hours_ about those weird wizardy sci-fi books you both read, and you both have the same bizarrely eclectic taste in music even though she is the most rhythmless person I have ever met in my life.”

Despite his incredibly shitty mood, Bucky can’t help but snort at the truth of that last comment.

“You call her a good friend, but Buck, I’d say that’s an underestimation.  She’s one of your closest friends.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Where are you going with this, Steve?”

“Sometime between then and now your heart took an extra step and you fell in love with her.”  Steve watches his friend for a moment before continuing, “It’s okay, Buck. I’m not judging you and I’m not going to tell anyone.  I just thought you might want to talk about it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bucky pushes roughly past Steve, grabs his bag, and heads home to shower.

So much for the gym being a distraction.

***

Going to work is both a blessing and a curse. His Angel is the unwitting source of his pain while simultaneously bringing more light into his life than he’d ever known.

It’s confusing as fuck.

Sometime after his conversation at the gym with Steve he’d made a conscious decision to simply accept what he is given.  So what if his love is unrequited?  So what if she’s marrying someone else?  He still gets to see her pretty much every day, they’ll still talk or text constantly, she’s still one of his best friends, and hell, it’s no secret that he’s _her_ best friend. Her marrying that other guy won’t change that.   It sucks, but there’s nothing he can do about it.  His only other option is to cut her out of his life, and that is not only logistically impossible considering how closely they work together, but it’s also not what he wants.

A life without her is…unimaginable.  

How the fuck did this happen in six short months? 

Bucky sighs as he picks up his empty coffee cup and heads to the break room for a refill, stopping short when he walks into the room to find her standing there.

There’s something…off…about the way she’s just staring at the coffeemaker.  She’s getting married tomorrow, she should be _ecstatic_ , but her eyes are as empty as the coffee pot and it immediately sets him on edge.

Come to think of it, there’s been something off for about two weeks now.  He’d figured it was just the stress of her impending wedding, because that’s what she _told_ him, but now seeing her standing there looking almost forlorn, he’s not so sure.

“You can’t just stare and intimidate the coffee into making itself, Angel,” Bucky’s voice is gentle as he walks up to her, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he begins to start another pot.

“Why not?  It works for everything and everyone else under this roof.”  Her mumbled retort comes with the usual speed, but much too quiet and without the usual spunk.

He laughs a little to hide his concern. “Well, you’re not wrong.”  Bucky finally turns to face his Angel, assessing what he sees.  She looks drawn, overwhelmed.  And sad. “Late night?”

“You could say that.”  She avoids his eyes as she starts pouring her creamer and sweetener into her cup.  “Thanks for making the coffee, Buck.  Apparently I need to have coffee in me before I can actually make coffee.”  She finally looks up and smiles at him, and he’s relieved to see that it reaches her eyes.  “Which may very well be the source of my demise.  Since you’re the only other person here other than me that actually makes it, don’t be surprised if you show up to work after a vacation only to find that I’ve turned to stone in front of the coffeemaker because I couldn’t get my caffeine fix.”

He chuckles as he pours her cup, then his. “Steve makes coffee, too.”

“No, Steve makes _decaf_ and tries to pass it off as coffee.  Remember when we found that empty box of decaf coffee hidden under the sink after that particularly rough week last month, the same week that Steve said that he ‘accidentally’ used the wrong coffee because our supplier sent the wrong kind?” 

“Yeah, I…wait, that was _him_?  Are you saying he did that on purpose??”

“Yep.”  She nods as she takes a sip.  “Tried to cover it up, but he forgets that I have access to the purchasing records. So I called our supplier only to find out that Steve specifically requested decaf coffee in a brand that doesn’t label the individual packets.  The sneaky prick put those packets into some old boxes and told everyone that the manufacturer just changed the packaging.  After I found that out I had him basically locked out of the account. I told the account manager with our supplier that if his company ever wanted to do business with the city again that he would tell Steve that he had to call in his orders instead of doing them online, and that they had to call me to verify the order before filling it.”

Bucky stares at her incredulously.  “That week was _terrible_!  I thought I was gonna have a goddamn mutiny on my hands – everyone walked around here like pissed off zombies for a week!”  He pauses to think.  “Well, except for him.  He was an annoyingly chipper little bastard.”

“Mmm hmm.  He was the only one here that wasn’t ready to stab someone.  Oh, and don’t forget the withdrawal headaches everyone had.”

“God, how could I?  Everyone here wanted to cry every time the bells rang for a fire call.”

She nods, and she’s completely serious when she states, “I thought I was going to die that week.”

“Well you weren’t gonna die alone, Angel, I was ready to go with you.”  Bucky pauses to chew his lip.  “He can’t get away with that.”  

She ducks her head and a grin grows on Bucky’s face.  Oh boy…he _knows_ that look.

“Angel, light of my life, what did you do?”

“Me?”  She puts a hand over her heart and blinks with mock innocence.  “Whatever do you mean?”  

She tries to hold the act but the giggle escapes her control and Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.  “Maybe I don’t wanna know.  Plausible deniability.”

She laughs outright at that, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard.  “Well, I caught him trying to do it _again_ about a week later, this time he was bringing his own decaf from home so there wouldn’t be any evidence.”

Bucky shakes his head at how obnoxiously far Steve is willing to go to try to make everyone ‘healthier.’

“So every morning for the past three weeks, when he goes for his 8:35 pee break, I run into his office, dump out the cup of decaf he brought from home, and replace it with regular coffee.”

Bucky made the mistake of taking a drink as she speaks, and it nearly comes out his nose.  “You _what_?  

She nods, smiling widely.  “And he thinks his improved concentration and outlook on life is due to his new and improved, zen conforming office configuration.”  She says the last part of the sentence with an impressively accurate impersonation of Steve, eyebrows and all, and Bucky doubles over in laughter.

“So,” he finally gets out after catching his breath, “how long are you gonna keep switching out his coffee?”

She shrugs with another giggle – God, how he loves that sound.  “Until he pisses me off.  Or you, Buck, just let me know when you want some revenge.  I’ll quit giving him regular coffee and he can experience our wrath in the form of caffeine withdrawal.”

He high-fives her as he agrees, “Deal. Damn, I had no idea you were so ruthless.”

She shrugs.  “He had it coming.”

“You know, he might eventually figure it out when his days off start to suck.”

“Nope,” she shakes her head as laughter dances in her eyes. “Pegs is in on it. She takes over when either he’s off or I am.”

“You…you got _Peggy_ …”  Bucky blinks in disbelief. She’s in cahoots with the chief of police.  Steve’s _wife._ Bucky can’t decide if he’s impressed or terrified – he’d always thought that Peggy and Steve were the ultimate power couple, but now he’s starting to think that his Angel and Peggy are significantly more formidable.  

She nods. “Well yeah. I mean, I’ve heard the stories of how sick he was as a kid, so I didn’t want to do this only to find out he had a serious medical reason for avoiding caffeine. I wanted to teach him a lesson, not send him into cardiac arrest.  Anyway, let’s just say that she was _incredibly_ unimpressed at what Steve did.  After telling me how Steve got through the first few years on the fire department by slamming Monsters and donuts in between fire calls, she said, and I quote, ‘if that cheeky wanker so much as touches my tea, I will end him.’ __

“That’s incredible. _You’re_ incredible.”  Bucky shakes his head at her, still smiling broadly.   “Not all heroes wear capes.”

“Hey, that’s my line for you.”  She’s quiet for a moment, suddenly looking serious but still like herself and not the empty shell she was when he found her, when she speaks again.  “Thank you.”

“For what?”  He knows damn well what she’s about to say - he just enjoys hearing her say the words. 

“For being you.”  

He can’t help it – he feels a fierce pride at being the one responsible for putting the light back in her eyes.

She smiles and gives him an impromptu hug before glancing at the clock.  “Oh shit, it’s 8:30!”  

She gets a disposable cup out of the cupboard as Bucky reaches for the coffeepot and fills it for her.  “Does this make me your partner in crime?” he grins.

“Isn’t that just a given by now?” she winks as she speeds out of the breakroom, two cups of coffee in tow.

For some inexplicable reason, Bucky feels a blush creeping up his neck at her last comment.  She might not be in love with him, but he’s obviously important to her and she’s not shy about expressing it.  Okay, yeah.  He can do this.  He doesn’t have to be _with_ her to be with her. Tomorrow isn’t the end of his world. 

* * *

Bucky’s good mood and optimistic outlook is obliterated at noon when Angel leaves for the day; she took a half day off to prepare for her wedding tomorrow.  Of course it’s all anyone can talk about, so he can’t get away from the reminder that she’s about to officially become someone else’s wife.

Not that he can really blame them – everyone is excited for her and she’s the darling of the fire department.  Pretty much everyone talks about her like she’s a cherished, respected, and occasionally feared sister, although of course she’s closer to some than others.

Steve and Sam, for example, whose conversation Bucky happens to overhear after she leaves.

“For someone getting married tomorrow, you’d think she’d look happier.”  Steve sounds almost regretful.  

“Seems to me like she’s perfectly happy when she’s around Barnes.”  There’s a pause, and then, “Think she looks at John like she looks at him?”

Bucky has never appreciated Sam as much as he does in this exact moment for that comment.  He’s around the corner, but he can practically see Steve’s Eyebrows of Disapproval through the wall.  “His name is Jack, and Boss and Buck are just really good friends.”

Sam snorts.  “Okay, fine.  Protect our friend’s secret, see if I care.  It’s not like the three of us have been best friends since kindergarten or anything.  I have eyes, you know.  I really don’t know how everyone else doesn’t see it.”

“Didn’t take you for a matchmaking gossip, Sam.” There’s a slight warning in Steve’s voice which is a dead giveaway that he’s protecting his friend, but Bucky can’t help the half smile – he knows Sam doesn’t mean any harm and it’s always good to know that Steve has his back.  It’s a small comfort.

“It’s not gossip, it’s an observation.  You know, at first I was kinda insulted when she started working here, because she and Barnes hit it off so well that it sorta felt like she was taking our place in his life.”

Steve snorts.  “As if you’d ever let yourself be replaced.”

It’s quiet for a long moment.  “Didn’t have to – as it turns out, she fits right in.” Bucky can almost feel Sam’s side eye with his next comment, “She runs your ass as if she was right there with us on the playground the whole time.  You’d better pray she never decides that she wants to be fire chief, cause she’ll get it and your ass will get demoted.”

“We already call her Boss, she doesn’t need the official title.  Besides, she already knows she runs the place.”

“Hey, Barnes!”  

Bucky cringes as he turns to the sound of his shouted name, hoping that Scott didn’t just give away that he’d been eavesdropping on Steve and Sam. 

“Can I catch a ride with you tomorrow to Boss’ wedding?   You’re going, right?  She said we were all welcome to come to the reception.  I heard her fiancé is carving radishes into those fancy little roses.”

And yet another reminder is rubbed in his face. Bucky doesn’t even reply, he just stalks away. 

“Geez, what’s with the murder face, it was just an idea to save on gas since it’s out of town,” Scott mutters, turning back the way he came. 

Bucky isn’t quite out of earshot when Sam makes his next comment. “That right there is the look of a man that met the love of his life six months too late.”

He keeps walking; he doesn’t want to hear Steve’s reply. 

* * *

Bucky restlessly fidgets as he sits in the chapel. He feels like he’s suffocating, but he knows it isn’t his suit and tie.  It’s the feeling of abject helplessness at the inevitability of losing the woman he loves that’s causing the air to feel so thick and hard to breathe.  

Except she isn’t his to lose.

He doesn’t want to feel this way.  He doesn’t want to be in love with her and he’s prayed that this crush would go away so many times that the words feel like a well-worn racetrack in his mind.  

The problem is that it isn’t just a crush.  

_Fuck._

Jack stands at the front, waiting for his bride, and Bucky keeps glaring at him.  He knows it’s unreasonable but he just doesn’t care.

Steve’s whisper finally catches Bucky’s attention. “You can’t make him spontaneously combust with your mind, Buck. You don’t actually have the power of the force.”

“Shut up, Steve.”

And then, as much as he doesn’t want it to, the music starts.  The wedding party isn’t huge, just a maid of honor and a best man, so he doesn’t have long to wait.  Everyone stands and turns to look at the entrance, where she’s finally visible.

She’s _radiant._

Her smile is blinding as she slowly walks down the aisle, accompanied by her grandpa.  She’s gazing at Jack in a way that makes Bucky feel physically sick, but she looks so damn happy that he can’t feel anything but happy for her. Her gown is simple but stunning; a sleeveless A-line in off-white with hints of gold and platinum embroidery within the subtle brocade.  She bucked tradition and skipped the veil but holds a delicate bouquet of three calla lilies tied together with a satin ribbon.

Bucky can’t take his eyes off her.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the actual ceremony – at least, not until she utters those two little words that break him.

“I do.”  She says it with a smile on her face and her heart in her eyes, because she means it.  Because _she loves Jack._

Bucky holds it together, because he has to.  He has no choice.  He’s not going to ruin her day by making a scene.  He’s not going to lose it and lose her friendship in the process.

It’s not easy.  

And he can’t exactly duck out right after the ceremony – he promised her a dance, and there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that he’s going to break a promise to her.

Goddamn it.

* * *

The reception is as simple as the ceremony, and it feels cozy and intimate within the hall even though there are almost 200 people in attendance.   Bucky sits with Steve, Peggy, and Sam at the table reserved for them; the same table where her mom and grandparents are sitting.  Somehow in this horrible nightmare come true he’s managed to secure a place of honor.  It’s too much, and not enough. 

Still, she trusts him and has decided that he’s important enough to sit with her mom on her wedding day, so Bucky forces himself to put on a good front.  He lays on the charm, makes her family laugh and smile.  So do Steve and Peggy – if he didn’t know any better, he’d say those two were doing the same thing he was.  Or covering for him during those moments when he’s less than convincing.

He’s intentionally in the men’s room when they have their first dance.  Bucky knows his limit.  This is it. 

Bucky forces himself to stick around for another hour.  It isn’t so bad, all things considered; Angel’s mom and grandparents are some pretty good people, and they unknowingly help keep him distracted.  Eventually, though, hearing everyone toast to the bride and groom and clinking glasses to get them to kiss gets to be too much.

He needs to go, but he has a promise to keep first.

it takes him longer to find her than he thought it would, especially considering she’s the bride.  Jack is on the dance floor having a blast and getting quite tuned up from the looks of it; Bucky watched him down two shots of whiskey before starting a conga line.  He doesn’t seem to care that his bride isn’t with him, and that pisses Bucky off.

If he were the groom, he’d be by her side all night.  Every slow dance, every smile, every toast.  Every minute.

But he’s _not_ the groom.

Bucky finally finds her outside, standing behind the corner of the building just out of sight of the group of people smoking – he only found her because he decided to peek out one of the side exits.

He watches her for a moment as she gently sways to the muffled beat of the music that can be heard through the walls.  “Angel, what are you doing out here?”  

She looks up and plasters a smile on her face. “Hey Buck!  I, uh, I just came out to get some air.  It’s hot in there.”

“Yeah, it really is,” he agrees, but that’s not what’s wrong.  He can see it in her eyes; she’s got the same look about her that she had yesterday at the coffeemaker.   _Empty_.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course!”  She answers too quickly and her smile falters.  “Yeah, I just, I got kind of overheated and I’m tired.  But I’m better now.”

Bucky isn’t sure he believes her, but today isn’t the day to push the issue.  “Good.” He gazes at her, memorizing every detail of how she looks on in her gown.  “So I, uh, I have to take off pretty soon, but I didn’t want to leave without dancing with the bride.”  God, how he wishes she were _his_ bride.

“You sure you want to do that?  I might break one of your feet,” she snickers and her eyes start to sparkle again.

He smiles and takes a step closer to her as a new song starts.  “Of course I’m sure, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t dance with the bride on her wedding day?”

She steps into his arms, placing one hand in his and the other on his shoulder.  “You’d still be a pretty damn good best friend, Buck.  Besides, you’re the only person I’ve ever found that’s actually able to talk with me about the kind of books I read, so…” she shrugs, “you’ve kinda made yourself irreplaceable.  I’d have no choice but to forgive you if you left without dancing with me.  I wouldn’t have been mad, though, I just would have written it off to your sense of self preservation.”

He laughs as his free hand goes to her waist, and he begins to lead her in a slow dance.  She’s so beautiful it makes his heart hurt.

She tilts her head slightly as her brow wrinkles in concentration.  “I can’t quite make it out – what song is this?  Can you hear it?”

Bucky can’t resist the opportunity to gently tease her. “You know, if you wouldn’t play your radio so loud when you’re in your car, you might be able to hear the music right now.”

“Yeah, okay pot, you’re looking mighty fancy in your suit and tie but I still see you.”

“What?  I –“

“I saw you singing along to Cher last week when you came back from doing your fire and safety inspections.  I couldn’t hear you over the music – which, by the way, I could clearly hear like 50 feet away from the truck _with the windows shut_ – so don’t you dare lecture me on loud music.” She laughs softly, “You were so into ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ that you were using your pen for a microphone.”

“I – I didn’t think anyone saw that.”  Bucky can feel the heat rising up his neck as she laughs but he can’t help but laugh with her.  “Dammit.”

“Nope, I saw.  Busted.”  Her smile is huge and her eyes are bright and everything Bucky ever wanted is in his arms. 

But it’s not for keeps and it’s just not fucking fair.

She must mistake his falling face for being upset at being caught, because she squeezes his hand as she murmurs, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”  She’s quiet for a moment as they dance before speaking again.  “Shit, you might be on to something.  I still can’t hear it.”

He listens carefully for a few beats; the song is quiet and slow so it isn’t carrying quite as well, but then he gets the hint of vocals…of course.  Of fucking _course_ it would be this song. The romantic sap in him _loves_ this song, but now it feels like the universe is rubbing salt into the wound of his broken heart.

“It’s ‘When You Say Nothing at All,” he murmurs, hoping the dim light hides the emotion on his face.

“Good grief, do you have the ears of a bat?  I still can’t get anything other than a faint beat.”

Bucky watches her as he takes a moment to find exactly where the song is, and then he softly begins singing so she can pick up the melody, “The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there’s a truth in your eyes-”

“Saying you’ll never leave me,” she quietly joins in, “the touch of your hand says you’ll catch me if ever I fall…”

Bucky pulls her just a tiny bit closer and closes his eyes; for the rest of the song he allows himself to pretend that she’s his.

**'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome**

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away**

**You’ve gone away, you don’t feel me here anymore**

_Present day, Bucky’s POV_

Three times she flatlined on the way to the hospital. Three times Bucky brought her back.

She had a thready heart rhythm when they finally arrived at the hospital; they wheeled her away and wouldn’t let him follow. Now he’s sitting on a folding chair in a bright, sterile hallway, waiting for news.

Bucky pulls out his wallet and takes out a somewhat blurry picture; one that’s worn and creased from being taken out, looked at, and put away, over and over again.  It’s a picture that Steve took with his phone on the night of Angel’s wedding – of him slow dancing with her outside the hall.  Steve just happened to come across them and thought it was a beautiful moment, so he snapped the picture and gave it to Bucky after printing it off.  He can clearly see that he looks like a lovesick idiot and she’s got her head thrown back in laughter to whatever Bucky had said.

Steve was right – it was a beautiful moment.

Nurses and doctors walk by without giving him a second glance, but it isn’t until a familiar face appears that Bucky shoots out of his chair.  “Please, Bruce, please tell me what is going on – how is she doing?”  Bucky doesn’t bother hiding the desperation in his voice as he gives Angel’s full name.

The doctor sighs heavily as he flips though some papers on a clipboard; he doesn’t bother slowing his pace.  “Bucky, you know I can’t tell you anything unless you’re listed as her emergency contact.  Every time I turn around there’s another 6 hour training event because someone violated a HIPAA law.”

“But –“

He finally stops walking and meets Bucky’s eyes. “Look, I know that you put your heart into your work – it’s what makes you such a damn great paramedic and why your fire department has won so many regional awards for saving lives.  But as medical professionals we can’t afford to get attached to our patients.  Sometimes we just can’t save them all.”

The doctor begins to walk away, but Bucky grabs him by the arm.  “But…but it’s my Angel…Bruce _please…_ ” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t care.

“Bucky, I told you – wait, what?  That’s _her_?” Bruce runs his hands through his already thoroughly messy hair as he starts mumbling something to himself about being fired.

“Please…”  Bucky isn’t above begging.  Not for her.

Bruce exhales noisily before looking around, grabbing Bucky by the arm, and pulling him into a quieter hallway.  “We’ve got a tight lockdown on her because of her situation – they haven’t apprehended her, uh, the assailant yet.  You did not get this from me, got it?  Don’t get me fired.”  He looks around again before pushing his glasses up and lowering his voice, “We can’t handle her injuries here; she needs a Level I trauma center. We’re sending her by Life Flight to Chastain Memorial – they were preparing to load her about 10 minutes ago, so she’ll be in the air shortly if she isn’t already.”

“Thank you,” Bucky breathes as he turns to go; it’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Chastain so he needs to get on the road immediately so he can be there for her as soon as possible.

“Bucky.”  There’s something in his voice that makes Bucky hold his breath.  “She’s badly hurt.”

“I know,” it comes out as a strangled whisper. “I was the first EMT on the scene.”

Bruce blanches as he stares at Bucky.  “That’s – God, that must have been awful.”  He blinks and gathers himself before continuing, “Hey, I know she’s your best friend and that she means a lot to you; I’m so sorry you had to wait so long for an update on her.  I didn’t realize it was her because no one uses her actual name, and I didn’t recognize her because…”  He looks at the floor before looking back up at Bucky.  “I’m not saying that it’s impossible to save her, but I think you might want to prepare for the worst.”  The sorrow in Bruce’s eyes would make a lesser man give up hope, but not Bucky.  

Bucky takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. “I refuse to give up on her. She’s never given up on me, so I’ll be damned if I let her down.  Thank you for the information.  I gotta go.”

Bruce nods.  “Drive safe.  Our city can’t afford to lose you.”

Bucky shrugs as he jogs away.  “If I lose her, then it doesn’t really matter.”

* * *

He makes the two-and-a-half-hour drive in just under an hour and a half – Steve must have put in a call Peggy to have her notify her department of the situation, because he should have been pulled over several times but wasn’t – but by the time Bucky gets to Chastain she’s already being prepped for surgery so he’s not allowed to see her.  In the time it took for him to drive to her, someone from the fire department had modified her personnel file to show Bucky as her emergency contact and faxed it to the hospital so the doctors would give him updates as they were available.  He’s not sure who, but if he had to put money on it he’d guess Steve or Sam. They’re on their way as well.

“Mr. Barnes?”  An accented feminine voice catches his attention as he sits in one of the waiting rooms.  At his nod, she continues, “I am Dr. Mina Okafor; I understand you are my patient’s family contact?”

Bucky stands, “Yes, ma’am.”

“You are a relative?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You are…her husband?”

Bucky hesitates, “I – no – it’s complicated.”

Dark, assessing eyes stare at him over regal cheekbones.  “Doesn’t seem complicated to me, her patient file indicates that she is married. Either you gave her the ring that we had to cut from her broken finger or you didn’t.  I don’t actually care, I just need to know the nature of your relationship so I know how much I need to coddle you.”

Bucky bites his tongue on a snarky retort and fervently hopes that Dr. Okafor’s surgical skills are better than her bedside manner.  “The man that gave her that ring is also the man that gave her the reason to be here. I’m her best friend.”  She’d brought the ring with her to leave at the apartment, but Jack must have found it and forced it back on her finger. Bucky hadn’t even noticed with all the blood.

“I see.”  Dr. Okafor pauses as she clasps her hands behind her back.  “Well, as I’m sure you know she is badly injured.  She has a depressed skull fracture; I don’t see much in the way of swelling or bleeding, but it is still early.  We have a neurosurgeon on her way to better assess the patient’s injuries.  She’s got broken ribs, her left lung has been punctured, and we need to do exploratory surgery in her abdominal cavity because she is bleeding internally and none of the imaging we’ve done is able to show us where the blood is coming from. I suspect that her appendix and spleen ruptured from the blunt force trauma, but I cannot be sure until I cut her open.  Her left shoulder has some torn tendons from when it was dislocated; as long as all else goes well, that will be need attention, too.  There is quite a bit for us to fix.”

Bucky nods as he swallows hard and says for the second time that night, “I know.  I was one of the paramedics that responded to the call.”

Okafor’s stone gaze softens just a bit.  “I am good at what I do.  If your…friend…is strong enough, she might be able to survive the surgeries.  The first couple of days will be the most critical.  What happens after that is up in the air; her neurosurgeon will have more details for you in that regard.”

“Angel’s the strongest person I know.”

“Angel?”  Okafor raises an eyebrow as she takes folded piece of paper out of her white coat pocket and reviews it carefully.  “That is not my patient’s name.  You are Mr. James Barnes, correct?”

Bucky nods as he recites her full name and date of birth.  “Angel is just my nickname for her.” 

“Hmm.  Best friend indeed.”  She gives him an indecipherable look before continuing.  “I would expect that she will be in surgery for at least 7 hours, likely more.  Someone will be out to speak with you when we are done.  If you have any family to call, now would be as good a time as any to do so.”  She nods at him and leaves.

Okafor wasn’t exactly the most pleasant person he’s ever encountered, but he gets the distinct impression that she’s competent. The problem with some cocky people is that they sometimes have a right to be – Bucky hopes and prays that Okafor falls into this category.  He can’t deny that she brought up an important point – he needs to call Angel’s mom and let her know what happened.  It’s getting a little late, but this really can’t wait till morning.

This…this is going to be hard.

He dials the direct number to the station, hoping someone will answer and that they aren’t all out on fire calls. Thankfully, the volunteer supervisor answers.

“Sharon, I need the contact information for Angel’s mom.”

“Bucky?  Oh my God, I heard what happened!  Is Boss okay?”

He swallows against the lump in his throat. “She’s got a lot of surgery to get through.”

Sharon exhales loudly, “Alright.  Keep us up to date, okay?”

Bucky appreciates that she doesn’t press for details but feels a brief stab of guilt as he realizes that he’s been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn’t considered how worried everyone else has been. Angel is important to a lot of people, not just him.  “Yeah, yeah I will.”

He gets the number but ends up staring at his phone for a good 20 minutes before he can make the call.  How the hell do you call the mother of the woman you love, only to tell her that her only daughter was assaulted and might not survive?

**The worst is over now and we can breathe again**

**I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away**

**There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight**

**I wanna hold you high and steal your pain**

_Your POV, 4 years 10 months ago_

It’s fucking freezing in the station today – the weather is unseasonably cold, the bay doors have been open for most of the morning since the guys are doing maintenance on the trucks, and of course the heat is only working sporadically. 

This wouldn’t normally bother you in the slightest, but it was another late (bad) night with Jack. When you’d gone to pick his drunk ass up from his friend’s house at 3 am, he threw up all over your jacket. Then when you got home he threw up again, this time into your laundry basket of clean clothes that had been sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be folded.  

At least it’s Friday, so you can be casual – you were able to find clean jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, but it’s not quite enough. Definitely better than a dress would have been, though.  Adding to your chill are the memories from last night – it…it was a bad one.  Probably one of the worst, so far.

So far.  You’ve been married for two months…is it really supposed to be like this? So far your marriage with Jack hasn’t exactly met your expectations.  Not for the first time, you wonder if you should have walked away when you had your first experience with his drinking, but it was only 2 weeks before the wedding.  Besides, you don’t give up on the ones you love.  He doesn’t mean it – he’ll get better.  Right?  Shaking your head almost violently, you will away the doubts about your relationship with Jack.  You love him, and you made vows that you fully intend to keep.  

If your dad had kept _his_ vows maybe your mom wouldn’t have struggled so long with her addiction to painkillers after her emergency hysterectomy and subsequent chemo treatments.  She’d finally found her way out, but her addiction stole 5 years of your mom from you during your early teen years.  You still haven’t forgiven your dad for walking out, but he has his own addictions so him staying might not have made one iota of difference anyway.  Still, he didn’t even _try,_ and then he tore your family apart with his broken promises. He never should have left.

You swore you’d never marry someone like your dad. Yet here you are.  

You tap your frozen feet against your desk.  It’s easier to focus on how cold you are than to focus on your heartache – so that’s what you do.  With panache.  

“Angel, I can hear you cussing out the cold all the way down the hall,” Bucky laughs as he comes into your office. 

“Well, it’s fucking cold in here.”  You glare at him over the rim of your coffee cup as you try to leach its warmth into your fingers. Bucky looks so nice and toasty in his dark blue hoodie – the one with the embroidered emblem and initials of your fire department.  

“Yeah, it is kinda chilly.  Sorry Angel, I’ll have the guys move the remaining trucks outside so the bay doors can be closed; they should be able to finish up the maintenance out there.”  He smiles and despite your current discomfort, you smile back.  “Hey, where are we on that requisition request for shop supplies?”

You raise an indignant eyebrow.  “ _We_? Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of, do you have a turd in your pocket?”  Your best friend at least has the decency to look moderately ashamed.  “ _I_ put it on your desk over an hour ago, along with Barton’s injury report and the fuel reports from last week, _and_ the personal expense reports that you were supposed to submit two weeks ago - they’re all completed and just need your signature.”  

The relief is clear on his face.  “And that, Angel, is _why_ you’re an angel.”

“Why, because I save your ass?”  You can’t help the smirk that comes across your face; Bucky’s visit has lightened your mood considerably.

“Every damn day.  You really have no idea how disorganized we were before you came along.”

“No idea…Bucky…what…” You know you’re sputtering, but seriously?  No idea? “Who exactly do you think cleaned up that horrid mess??  The patron saint of fire department administration managers?  No.  Me.  It was me.”

“Yes, Boss, it was, and it’s why you’ve already earned three promotions in the eight months you’ve been here.”  Steve pokes his head in and smiles.  “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that the heating guy should be here in about an hour.  Can you send him my way if someone pawns him off on you?”

“Sure thing, Steve.” He sends you a smile and a wink at your reply before stepping out to answer a call that came in on his cell.   

Another cool breeze comes through, and Bucky looks around your office when another visible chill shakes your body. “Where’s your jacket?”

And just like that, your bright mood is gone.

You almost tell him the truth – lying to Bucky doesn’t come easily to you and it’s so fucking lonely carrying this burden by yourself, but you settle for a half truth and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re trying to protect Jack or if you’re just too ashamed to let Bucky know what’s really going on.  “Jack got sick last night and threw up on it. I haven’t had a chance to wash it yet.”

He makes a face.  “Oh, gross.”

“’Gross’ would be an upgrade,” you mutter as you pass a hand over your tired eyes.

“Well, here,” Bucky grabs behind his neck and pulls his hoodie off.  “You can wear my sweatshirt.”

You eyeball the offered bundle, but don’t reach for it although it is incredibly tempting.  “Buck, you’ve been working in the shop all morning and you said there’s still some maintenance to finish. You’ll freeze if I take your hoodie, especially if you move the trucks outside.”

“I’ve got a spare jacket in my office.  Take it, Angel, because if you freeze to death we’ll end up descending back into chaos, and also I’ll die of a broken heart because you’re the _only_ person that will watch Armageddon and Independence Day with me.”

Finally giving into temptation, you take the hoodie from Bucky and pull it on, groaning appreciatively at the residual warmth left over from when he was wearing it.  You could swear the man is his own heater.

And it smells really, really damn good…like safety, happiness, and trust. 

You settle in contentedly, leaving the hood up to soak up every possible inch of warmth.  “Mmm…I live here now, this is my new home.”

A soft laugh comes from your best friend as he circles your desk.  “It’s, uh, it’s a bit on the big side for you,” he chuckles as he helps roll up the sleeves so your hands are free. 

“Well, you’ve got like a 9 foot wingspan, Barnes.  What did you expect?”  If you remember right, the last time you put in an order for sweatshirts he’d ordered a size 3 or 4XLT to accommodate his broad shoulders and 6-and-a-half-foot frame.  

He shrugs.  “Makes it easier to get all my groceries in the house in one trip.”

Well, he’s got a point.  “Thank you,” you murmur as you snuggle into the soft material. 

Bucky smiles broadly.  “Anytime, Angel.”

 

_Bucky’s POV, 2:00 am the following morning_

“Copy that, dispatch.  I’m on my way.”

It’s 2 am and his shift is officially over, but the location is on his way home.  Bucky figures it’ll be an easy stop – the cops call the EMTs to make sure no one is seriously injured and then make the necessary arrests.  Standard bar call.

His extra medical kit is always packed into the storage compartment on the back of his motorcycle, so he doesn’t bother with a station truck – besides, he can probably be home within the hour if he takes his personal vehicle because then he can go straight home instead of coming back to the station.  He’ll worry about the paperwork later.

There are three squad cars when he pulls into the parking lot, and the cops have everyone separated.  Bucky passes an experienced eye over the scene; there are some split lips and likely black eyes, but all in all no one seems to be too badly hurt.  But one face catches his attention…

It’s Jack.  What the fuck is Jack doing here?

“No one is pressing charges – we just need to make sure no one needs to go to the hospital,” one of the cops informs him. “We’ll stay until you’re finished. I’d personally like to take them all in, but they all claim nothing happened.  Somehow they all magically fell onto rocks shaped like fists.”

Yep. Typical bar brawl. 

Footsteps approach from behind – Wilson answered the call as well.  “Hey, you take those three, and I’ll get the four over here,” Bucky instructs, trying to get him to turn towards his patients right away so he doesn’t notice Jack. 

Bucky can’t explain why, but he’s two hundred percent sure that Angel doesn’t want anyone to know about Jack.   _He_ didn’t even know about this, and it bothers him.  

Bucky approaches Jack first.  “Give me your keys.”

“Wha?”  Jack looks up at Bucky.  He’s fucking wasted.

Suddenly his best friend’s recent sadness and empty eyes make a lot more sense.

“I said give me your keys.”  Bucky holds out his hand expectantly.

“Hey, I know you…you work with m’wife.”  

“Yeah, I do.  Now give me your damn keys and go sit by your car.  I’m gonna patch these three up and then I’ll get to you and drive you home.”  Bucky isn’t sure how he manages it given how drunk he is, but Jack somehow gets to his car and into the passenger’s seat – he can’t quite seem to figure out how to shut the door, though.  Bucky keeps an eye on Jack as he tends to the other three – all superficial injuries – and heads back to Jack’s car after seeing Wilson and the cops take off.

There’s not a whole lot to treat – it actually looks like Jack won the fight, which is almost impressive considering he can’t even sit up straight.  Bucky glues a cut on Jack’s forehead, cleans and bandages his knuckles, and all but slaps an ice pack onto his left eye before sliding into the driver’s seat of Jack’s car.

Bucky expects that it will be fairly silent for the ride home – but Jack surprises him.

“She talks ‘bout you.  All th’time,” he slurs; good God his breath is _horrible._  “’M’glad she has such a good friend like you cause I’m a shit husband.”  

_No argument there, buddy._

“I was s’posed to take’er out tonight.  But I got inna fight instead.”  

Great.  He’s an emotional drunk and he’s going to start crying.  Bucky rolls his eyes as he clenches his jaw; there’s nothing he can say at this point that will help anything.

“I din’t even call’er, jus’ shut my phone off.” And here come the tears.  “I don’ deserve ‘er.”

_No, Jack. You really, really don’t._

Bucky ignores him for the rest of the ride, with the sole exception of when he asked Bucky to pull over so he could vomit.  It occurs to Bucky that he could punch Jack and no one would be the wiser, but he keeps his fists to himself.

When they finally pull up to the apartment, Bucky gets out and has to help Jack because he’s completely incapable of doing anything.  And the bastard had planned to drive home like this?  Or did he just plan to call his wife, expecting her to pick up his sorry ass at all hours of the early morning?  No wonder Angel has been so tired lately.

Bucky all but carries Jack down the stairs to his apartment.  He props Jack against the wall so he can unlock the door, and then leads the drunk man through before dropping the keys into the kitchen table.

When Bucky looks up, she’s there in the dimly lit room.

At first she looks so soft, standing there in sleep shorts with her hair mussed - and God, she’s still in his sweatshirt - but then he sees her eyes. Red rimmed and tired. Nearly broken-hearted and half filled with tears.  Ashamed. Embarrassed. 

“Um, Bucky,” she swallows hard and avoids his eyes. “Hi.  I’m, uh, I’m so sorry you had to see this.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to make her feel better.  This isn’t her fault, and he prays that she knows that.

“Baby, I love ya so much.  ‘M so sorry.”  More drunk tears carried on Jack’s terrible breath.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.  Let’s just get you to bed, okay?”  Bucky can hear the false cheer in her voice, and he wonders how many times she’s said this exact same line.

She doesn’t ask, but Bucky helps anyway.  He brings the sorry sack of shit into their bedroom even though he wants to gag at the thought of them sleeping in the same bed together.  He watches her tuck her husband in and doesn’t miss it when she deftly avoids Jack’s attempt at touching her thigh.

“Where you goin?  Arentcha comin’ to bed with me?” he whines plaintively.  “I wanna cuddle.”

“Jack, I need to bring Bucky back.  We can cuddle when I get home.”  She sounds so incredibly defeated, and Bucky’s heart breaks for her.

“Fine.  Whatever. Hurry up.”

Bucky leaves the room and she follows, closing the door behind her.  She walks back to the front of the apartment to slip on some shoes and grab her keys and purse before gesturing to the door.  “I’ll drive you back to…wherever you picked him up.  I guess I don’t even know where he was drinking tonight.” 

She opens the door and steps into the brightly lit hallway, but Bucky doesn’t follow.  “Angel, it’s pretty chilly out.”  He gestures to her sleep shorts.  “Don’t you want to put on some pants?”

She shakes her head.  “I don’t want to go back into the bedroom for them.  I’ll just crank the heat in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He’s not about to push her, so Bucky just closes the door behind him as he follows her into the hall.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” she chokes out once the door is shut; she’s trying so hard not to cry.  “Thank you for bringing him home.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just opens his arms.  She doesn’t walk into them, though, like he’d hoped.  She’s just standing there with her hands covering her face as she shakes with the effort of holding back her tears.  Bucky takes the step to close the distance and pulls her close.

“It’s okay, Angel.  I’ve got your back.  I’ve _always_ got your back.  Anything you ever need, at any time.  No matter what.  I’ve got you.”

Something in those words causes the dam to break, because then she’s sobbing and trembling in his arms.  Bucky holds her together while she falls apart, mindlessly murmuring soothing words to give her a beacon as she navigates the darkness.

Like most violent storms, it stops almost as abruptly as it started.  She hiccups but doesn’t let go – not yet – and he keeps his arms around her to let her know that she’s still safe and welcome where she is.  

Her eyes are puffy and red when she pulls away, wiping her face with a sleeve.  “Sorry Buck,” she mutters, “That was gross.  I promise I’ll wash it before I give it back.”

Bucky shakes his head, but it doesn’t matter because her eyes are once again downcast.  “Don’t worry about it, Angel.  As far as I’m concerned, you can keep it.  Looks better on you anyway.”  It’s as close as he’ll come to the truth; it looks fine on her, but it’s really a concession to the primitive part of him that likes that she’s in _his_ sweatshirt.  

She doesn’t reply – there’s no reaction at all. She’s as still as stone.

“Hey,” Bucky gently pries the keys out of her hands, “I’ll drive so you can relax for a few minutes, okay?”

She nods woodenly as Bucky leads her up the stairs and out into the cold night air.  He brings her to her car and opens the car door for her, making sure she’s safely inside before closing it.  Her movements are stiff, her face expressionless.

What kind of fresh hell has she been living?

“I’m sorry,” she finally murmurs after he starts the ignition.

Bucky turns the heat up all the way before leaning back in the driver’s seat.  “Angel, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But –“

“No.”  He keeps his voice soft but firm as he backs the car out of its parking space.  “ _No_. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Bucky watches her carefully for a minute before putting it into drive and heading back to the bar – she’s sitting rigidly with her hands in her lap, staring into space and seeing only God knows what.  “It’s not your fault.” 

“Yes, it is,” she whispers.

“Angel –“

“Yes, it is.  I’ve seen this before, Buck, in my parents.  My dad is an alcoholic, has been for as long as I can remember.  My mom stuck by him because she loved him, and because that’s what you do when you marry someone.  In sickness and in health, for better or for worse.  You don’t just leave.  You figure your shit out and you get through it.”  She blinks and her lip begins to tremble.  “The only reason my mom ever had a problem with addiction is because my dad wasn’t enough.  He didn’t care enough, he wasn’t around enough, he didn’t love her enough - so when she got sick she got hooked on painkillers.  She never would have had an issue if my dad had been enough.  If he’d _stayed_.”

Bucky bites his tongue against the fallacy of her logic – to her, it’s completely rational.  She didn’t see her dad’s descent into alcoholism, but she saw her mom’s descent into drug abuse.  She’s just looking for a reason to explain something that is sometimes tragically inexplicable.  

“Jack wouldn’t be drunk right now if I was enough for him,” she whispers, and Bucky wants to throttle Jack for putting the shame in her voice.

“Angel –“   How can he make her understand that she’s enough – that she’s _more_ than enough.  She’s _everything._

“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

Bucky stops at a stoplight as he considers his next words.  “You didn’t know he was an alcoholic when you started dating him, did you.”  It comes out as more of a statement than a question; of course she didn’t know.  Jack wouldn’t have told her something like that – he’s too good at what he does.

She shakes her head sadly.  “You must think I’m such an idiot for not knowing.  I just…we only moved in together after we got engaged.  Up until that point we each had our own place in our own town, so I wasn’t around to see it. We’d talk on the phone and FaceTime, but he always acted so normal, so charming.”  She swallows hard and sniffles, “He’s so damn good at hiding it. It took us living together for almost 6 months before I finally caught on.  I’m _such_ a fucking idiot.”  She pauses to wipe away a few stray tears before speaking again.  “Almost right away after I moved in, he started working more late nights and taking more closing shifts.  When he closes, he doesn’t get home until 1 or 2 because the kitchen stays open until midnight, and a lot of the time I couldn’t stay up that late since I had to work in the morning.  So I’d either be really sleepy or had already been sleeping by the time he got home, and I just…I completely missed the signs.  Sometimes when he came home late I knew he was out with some friends, but I believed him when he told me he was just having a beer or two.  On the other days, he’d tell me that he was working late but he’d get home early enough that we’d still have time together.  Jack would come home smelling of freshly sprayed cologne and Listerine – he told me that he wanted to get the smell of the restaurant off him.  Like an idiot, I believed him.  It never occurred to me that he was hiding the smell of alcohol on his breath because my dad never did that.”  She laughs drily, “Jack is a much better alcoholic, I guess.  He hides it well, even after he’s already drunk.”

Bucky reaches over to take her hand – it’s as cold as ice.  

“I don’t know how he functions so well –  but he does. He can drink an entire 12 pack and seem completely sober. When we had our first big blowup about it, he told me that he’s been drinking since he was 13, so maybe it’s just that he’s had a lot of practice, I don’t know.  Jack told me that he was sober when he first met me but started drinking again shortly thereafter; he just made sure he didn’t drink when he was coming to see me or when I was staying here, so I just…I just didn’t know.  I didn’t see it.  Maybe I just didn’t want to see it.”  

Bucky stays quiet, gently rubbing his thumb across her knuckles as he drives, taking the long way to the bar.

“It was only two weeks before the wedding when I finally realized I was engaged to an alcoholic, and by then I was already in too deep.  I love him, Bucky.  And I just keep thinking that he can get better.  I mean, my mom did.  And maybe if my dad had stuck around instead of bailing when things got shitty, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten so bad.”  She looks to Bucky with almost pleading eyes, although pleading for what, Bucky couldn’t say. “I can’t leave Jack alone like this, Buck, I’m not my dad.  I don’t quit the people I love.”

Bucky knows that it wouldn’t have made a difference if her dad had stayed – he’s still an active addict.  If anything, things could be much worse for her mom if he had stayed.  But that’s not what she needs to hear right now.  

“Angel, you need to know this isn’t your fault. It’s _not_.”  He speaks quietly but clearly.  “And you _are_ enough – you’re more than enough, you’re fuckin’ _perfect_ – do you hear me?  None of this has anything to do with you.  He drinks because he has a drinking problem, and if he says otherwise he’s lying through his teeth.”

She shakes her head as she sniffles, but at least she doesn’t argue.  At least she’s listening.

“Any man on earth would be lucky beyond belief to be loved the way you love Jack.”  Bucky pulls up next to his motorcycle and puts the car in park.  “Hey,” he shifts in his seat to face her, “look at me. Please.”

She does, and the misery he sees in her eyes makes his heart stop for a second.

Bucky has never seriously considered violence as a resort before, but right now he really wants nothing more than to beat the piss out of the asshole hurting his Angel.  He won’t, though, because that would just hurt her more.  Fuck.

“It’s not your fault, Angel, I promise.  It’s not because you’re not enough.  It’s because he’s an alcoholic.”

Her eyes fill with tears, but he sees the tiniest nod.

“Goddamn it, I can’t believe you’ve been dealing with this by yourself,” he mutters, more to himself than to her.  “No one should have to go through this alone.” He rubs a hand over his face before reaching over to wipe away a stray tear from her cheek.  “You’re not doing this by yourself anymore.  Okay?  I meant what I said in your hall tonight.  I’ve got you.   _No matter what_.  I’m your best friend, Angel.  Please, open up to me - let me be here for you.”

This time her nod is decisive.  “I’m sorry, Buck.  I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just,” her voice wavers and she has to stop to gather herself before she can finish, “I, um –“

“It’s okay, I know.  I know.”  And he _does_ know, he saw he shame and hurt in her eyes – hell, it’s still there.  He pulls her into a hug as best he can with the center console between them and plants a soft kiss to the top of her head.  

“Thank you, Bucky.”  She pulls away, and for the first time there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.  

“You don’t have to thank me – this is what best friends do.  You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would.”  She shrugs sheepishly, ‘It’s just…it’s easier for me to be the rock than it is for me to need someone to be that for me.”

Bucky nods – she doesn’t have to explain; he already knows this, too.  Pretty much everyone she’s ever trusted to protect her or be there for her has let her fall at one point or another; her dad, her mom.  Even her so-called best friend from high school that went to homecoming with the boy she’d been crushing on for three years.  And now Jack.

He’s about to tell her that he’ll never _ever_ let her fall, but he’s interrupted by an incredibly undignified noise.

Her eyes grow comically wide.  “Oh my God, Bucky, was that your stomach?”

He’s too happy to hear her small giggle to be embarrassed.  “Yes. Yes it was,” he chuckles.  “I can’t believe how loud that was.”

“Didn’t you –“

His growling stomach interrupts yet again, and this time she lets out a full-fledged laugh before glancing at the clock.  It’s almost 5 am.

Her eyes are still swollen and bloodshot from crying, but they’re clearer.  Brighter.  “I owe you breakfast.”

“Angel, you don’t owe me a damn thing.”  She doesn’t, but breakfast with her does sound really good…

“The truck stop.  Come on, let me buy you breakfast.  You have to eat before you go to bed anyway.”

Not that he’d had any resolve to begin with, but if he had, that would have crumbled it.  The truck stop has a bakery with the best donuts in the tri-state area, and their breakfast platters are just the right balance of fried meat and greasy carbohydrate deliciousness.

Bucky shoots her a grin as he puts the car in reverse and heads to the truck stop.  The mood is much lighter and they talk a bit about inconsequential things, but they mostly just enjoy each other’s company in silence.

She pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide her face as he pulls the car into the parking lot.  “I’m a mess.  Let’s sit in that corner booth, okay?”

How does he tell her that even after a good hour of crying she’s still beautiful to him?  He can’t find the words, so he just nods in agreement before getting out of the car.       

The warm smell of coffee and freshly fried donuts welcome them as they walk into the restaurant; Bucky almost laughs when they both stop at the same time to breathe in the comforting aroma.  He looks toward the back and sees that the booth she wants is open, so he puts a hand on her back and gently guides her to her seat.  She takes the side that puts her back to the restaurant and keeps her head down when the waitress brings two glasses of ice water and menus, but pulls the hood back when it’s just Bucky and her.

He watches her as she wets a napkin in her water and presses it to her eyes.  God, how he wishes there was something more he could do for her…but her strength shows once more a minute later when she removes the napkin and smiles at him.

“Thank you, Bucky.”  Her hand, still chilled from the holding the wet napkin, reaches across the table to take his.  “The situation still sucks, but I feel like a thousand pounds of dead weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”  She sighs, resting her cheek on her other hand.  Still sad but no longer lost, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing you’ll never have to find out.”  He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a broken whisper, but it does.  He doesn’t know how else to say that he’ll work every day to prove himself worthy of her fragile trust.

The sound of a clearing throat catches their attention.  “What’ll it be, honeys?  Or do you need more time?”  The waitress, Mata, looks at them with kind eyes.  She would remind Bucky of his grandma if his grandma chain smoked, wore bright blue eye shadow, and had a raging bingo addiction.

Bucky turns back to Angel and sees her grin, answering with his own.  “Let’s see…she’ll have…” he squints at her as he taps a finger against his lip, “she’ll have the apple fritter french toast with wild rice sausage and hash browns.” He can already taste victory.

She gives nothing away as her own eyes narrow to carefully study him.  “He’ll have the everything omelette with extra cheese, bacon, ham, and sausage, a side of pancakes, wheat toast – no, scratch that – a banana nut muffin, and coffee.” She smiles broadly when his face falls; she already knows she won.  “I also would like some coffee, please, with vanilla creamer.”

“Damn it, I forgot the coffee,” he mutters, admitting that he lost the game.

The waitress looks between them and shrugs; it’s the truck stop, she’s definitely seen stranger things.  Besides, she’s been their waitress before.  “Alright, I’ll have your coffee out in a minute and your food will follow shortly.”

After they both thank Mata, Bucky turns his focus back to his Angel.  “How the hell did you know I was going for the omelette today?”  

She shrugs, “You got off a late on-call shift, _still_ took a call on your way home, rescued my drunk husband, and have been playing therapist ever since.  I figure that’s hungry work, and your usual biscuits and gravy weren’t going to cut it.”

“Huh.”  He leans back in his booth – it makes him a stupid amount of happy that she knows him so well.  “Well played, Angel.  Well played.”

For the next two hours, Bucky tries to make her laugh as much as possible.  He has a feeling she’ll need it to get through the rest of the day.  

**'Cause I'm broken when I'm open**

**And I don't feel like I am strong enough**

**'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome**

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away**

_Present day, Bucky’s POV_

He doesn’t shiver in the cold wind.  He’s distantly aware that he really should store his motorcycle for the winter and start using his truck, but it hasn’t been a priority.

_His Angel is…she’s…_

Bucky pulls up to her old apartment, shaking his head to clear the memories.

They say that your entire life can flash before your eyes during traumatic events, and he now knows this to be true.  His life started almost exactly five and a half years ago, when she started working at the station, and memories of his time with her are the only thing keeping him upright.  Now is not the time for reminiscing, though.

His cell rings as he gets off the bike.  He answers with trembling fingers, unable to even state a greeting.

“Buck?  No news, but where the hell are you?  I thought you were going to be back an hour ago?”  Steve sounds suspicious…he’s gotta make this fast.

“There’s something I need to take care of.  I’ll be there soon.”  Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve’s reply, he just disconnects the call and shuts his phone off.  Digging through his pockets, he finds her spare set of keys and enters the building.

Bucky doesn’t understand how, doesn’t grasp how the _fuck_ this was allowed, but Jack made bail last night.  A friend at the jail called about three hours ago to let him know.  And then a clerk that processes bail bonds, someone that updates the inmate information on the jail’s website…several people, both well known and mere acquaintances, have been calling to give him updates.

Over the course of the past 72 hours what once was a well-guarded secret is now widely known.  Most people wouldn’t know her by her actual name, hell, most people wouldn’t be able to pick her out on the street, but now everyone knows about Bucky’s Angel.  That he loves her – that he’s _in love_ with her.  It somehow became obvious in the wake of this tragedy.  He’s not sorry; he’d only ever hid it out of necessity, and it feels good to openly admit it.

If the situation weren’t so bleak he’d laugh at the irony of it, of how many people had wanted them to be a couple – at how many people there were that thought they were perfect for one another even without actually having met her.  Turns out there are even a few people in city hall that thought he and Angel were married – they’d just assumed after seeing him with her.  

Then the unbelievable happened - for a couple of hours, she was his and he was hers and it was _perfect_.

But then the unimaginable happened.

For the millionth time, he wishes he could have met her before she fell in love with Jack.  Six tiny months stood between this nightmare and what could have been a modern-day fairy tale.  Six fucking months.

On the other hand, she was from a town that he’d never visited so if it weren’t for Jack, Bucky never would have met her at all.

Bucky swallows hard against the thickness in his throat – now is not the time to break down.  There’s something he needs to do.

He surprises himself with how calmly he enters the apartment.  The blood in the hall has been cleaned up but Bucky vividly remembers exactly where it was; it’s still there if he closes his eyes.

The putrid stench of booze and vomit hangs thickly in the air – Jack certainly didn’t waste any time. 

Bloodshot eyes slowly look up.  “Is she alive?”

Bucky glares in disdain at the man sitting at the kitchen table.  There are no less than six open bottles of liquor in front of him, and his shirt is stained with the proof of his wretched intoxication. 

“Please…please answer me.  No one will tell me, and the hospital says they don’t have a patient by her name.”  His glassy eyes don’t reflect the fluctuation of emotions in his voice – fear and confusion, anger and denial.  “But if they don’t have her…no.   _No_.  I didn’t kill her.  I couldn’t…I couldn’t do that.”

Bucky clenches his jaw as he struggles for self-control. 

Jack abruptly stands, swaying and leaning against the table.  “Tell me!! Is my wife alive or not?”

Bucky decides to help Jack stay steady - by wrapping his hand around Jack’s throat.  “You don’t deserve to know, you piece of shit.”

“This is your fault, you know.   _Yours_. We were happy before she met you. But you just couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself, no, you had to fuck my wife.  She –“

Bucky’s fist strikes Jack’s face once.  Twice.  “She fucking _loved_ you, you jackass!  She loved you, and it was your dumb, drunk ass that threw that happiness away.  And she was fucking faithful to you, every fucking hour of every fucking day, up until the day you decided to tell her that she either had to give you sex or you’d file for divorce!”  Another vicious punch.  “That’s rape by coercion you fucking fuck!” he screams, and loses count of how many times his fist meets Jack’s bloodied face.  

“Enough!  Bucky, stop!”

He gets in one more punch, then straightens at the intrusion. Goddamn it, Steve. 

Peggy walks toward them, voice lowered, “She needs you, Bucky, you should be by her side.  Please don’t make me arrest you.”

“She…my wife’s alive?”  By some miracle – or curse, depending on whose point of view it is – Jack is still conscious.  

“She’s not your wife anymore,” Bucky growls, relinquishing his grip on Jack’s neck.  He takes a step back, flinching when Peggy lightly grasps his upper arm.

“Go home, Bucky.  Go home, take a shower, and pack an overnight bag like you told Steve you were going to do.  I’ll be there after bringing this bastard back to jail, and then we’ll go to –“ Peggy pauses to glare at Jack, who has slid down the wall to sit on the floor, “I’ll bring you back to her.”

“Where…where’s she? And why’m I goin t’jail?  You should bring tha’ fucker in.  He ‘saulted me!”  Jack has finally begun to slur, but it has more to do with Bucky’s fist than the alcohol. 

Bucky shakes his head in disgust; Jack’s alcohol tolerance is truly that of a professional drunk.  Which, sadly, makes sense since that’s basically what the dumb fuck is.

“Shut up you stupid cockwomble.  Your bail was conditional; one of those conditions was abstaining from alcohol.”  She hauls Jack to his feet, not bothering to be gentle, and all but slams him face first into the table.  “You violated the conditions of your bail, so consider it revoked.”  Peggy cuffs him before turning back to her friend.  “Go home.  I’ll meet you there.”

There’s no room for argument in Peggy’s voice and Bucky knows damn well that she could, and _would,_ arrest him if necessary.  So he nods, “Okay, Pegs.”  He’s not mad, she’s doing it for him.  And for Angel.

He’s almost out the door when he remembers. He turns around, fishing in his pocket until he finds what he needs.  Peggy watches him carefully with her hand on the back of Jack’s neck as Jack glares at him, flinching when Bucky slams his hand down on the table next to his face.

“Like I said, she’s not your wife anymore.”  He removes his hand and leaves the damaged wedding ring, still encrusted with her blood, on the table.  “She’s not out of the woods yet.  She might still die because of what you did to her.  But if she makes it, you’d damn well better keep your distance.  I’m sure you’ve already been set up with a nice restraining order, but do yourself a favor and remember that I will fucking kill you if you so much as breathe on her.”

**'Cause I'm broken when I'm open**

**And I don't feel like I am strong enough**

**'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome**

**And I don't feel right when you're gone away**

Bucky sits in the uncomfortable chair next to her bed; the fingers of his right hand tap against the armrest in time with the steady beep of the heart monitor, while the fingers of his left hand remain entwined with hers.

He knows she won’t – not yet, anyway – but he wants her to wake up.  He wants to hear her voice and see her smile.  He wants to feel the warmth and affection from her that he’s grown so accustomed to.  Bucky is dying to know if it was really love that he saw reflected in her eyes when they made love – he thinks it was, but he doesn’t want to assume.  He wants to tell her that he loves her, and that it’s okay if she feels like it’s too soon for them to be anything other than what they have been to each other.  He wants to let her know that he’ll wait for her, if that’s what she wants.  He wants to reassure her that he’ll protect her, that he’ll never let Jack hurt her ever again.

Not that it matters what he wants.

“Buck,” Steve’s soft voice breaks into Bucky’s brooding, “I’ll stay here, I swear I won’t let her out of my sight.  Go back to the hotel room and get some sleep.”

“No.”

“She’s safe, Buck.  You know I’ll call if anything happens.”

Bucky shakes his head.  It’s not that he doesn’t trust Steve, because he does.  It’s that he’s lonely and lying in an empty hotel room will just amplify his brokenness.  He misses his Angel.  

A sharp knock at the door announces the arrival of Dr. Okafor; Bucky is surprised to see her again as she’s a surgeon, not a hospitalist. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”  She must see Bucky’s questioning look, because she explains, “If you are wondering why I am here, it is because I am actively avoiding a meeting that will not only bore me, but will not benefit me in any way whatsoever.  Also, the hospitalist that is on today is a complete moron, and I did not work on my patient for 9 and a half hours just to have some idiot undo all my good work.” The doctor _almost_ cracks a smile.  “Besides, you are an interesting bunch.”

“We appreciate your time, Dr. Okafor,” Steve is slightly in awe of her.

“Of course you do.”  This woman has condescension down to an art.  “So, today’s tests show that her blood cell counts are levelling off, which means that her liver has begun to compensate for the removal of her spleen; the other organs should be on their way to full functionality soon.  Her breathing is good, but I think it would be best to leave the chest tube in for a few more days to be sure her lung is healing correctly.  As far as the swelling on her brain goes – it seems to have come down some.  We’d like to continue to keep her in a medically induced coma for a few more days to reduce the swelling further and to make it easier for her brain and body to continue to heal.”

Bucky nods – the neurologist had suggested that earlier this morning.  A few more days, and then they can ease her off the drugs and bring her out of the coma. Then they will be able to assess whether there is any permanent brain damage.  He knows it isn’t likely, that it only happens in a very small number of cases or on TV, but he prays that once the drugs are stopped that she’ll just wake up. That her eyes will open, that she’ll see him and smile.  Maybe ask for pizza.

Highly unlikely.

If there’s any real damage it’s more likely that she’ll wake in stages, if she wakes at all.  She might need extensive rehabilitation, might need to learn how to walk and talk again.  

No matter what, Bucky will be there for her every step of the way, but not for the first time today Bucky steels himself to the reality that she might not remember him.  She might not remember anything of the past few weeks, months, or even years.

“Thanks, doc,” Steve murmurs, seeing every emotion crossing Bucky’s face.  “Hey, she’s gonna be okay, Buck.  She’s strong. And _stubborn_.  She’ll find her way back to you.”

Bucky nods as he watches her.  He can only hope.


End file.
